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“Like I said, she has personality. She seems nice. Funny.”
I laughed. “You can tell that from her profile picture can you? Pulling the funky chicken is she?”
“Just fucking look, will you?” He pushed his glasses back on his nose, and smoothed down his beard, eyes twinkling.
Boho. Another one. Could I handle another trendy little free-spirit in the house? Probably. The thought didn’t altogether turn me off.
I clicked the link, and Rick leaned over, angled my screen so he could share my view. I resigned myself to the inevitable apathy, another pretty face in the catalogue of pretty faces looking for a healthier bank account and a nice rich cock. Or two. Two on offer didn’t seem to hinder our success any. Far from it.
The face that greeted me wasn’t out of any catalogue. Her hair was a cascade of natural blonde, tumbling over slender shoulders to rest at the curve of her vest top. Her eyes were alive and kind, pastel blue and full of mischief, and her smile was bright and genuine. A sweet little nose, with a sprinkling of freckles over glowing skin. Nice tits. Narrow waist. Long legs in faded denim, crossed under her as she leaned back, her palms splayed on the grass beneath.
She was beautiful. Beautiful and different from the others, he was right. A seashell necklace and two gemstone bracelets were her only adornments.
Bohemian, yes. But just a little.
Rick gave me the overview, but it sounded distant.
“Her profile says she’s twenty-two, not too young. Just about to finish up university. Worcester. Business degree. Still lives at home. Drives. Works two jobs. She’s outdoorsy, all-out natural, likes pizza and KFC, though. All the unhealthy stuff. Probably even likes service station sandwiches. You’ll get on well.”
“We can’t all pull a PJ party and work from home every day. Your de-humidified little veggie snacks hardly cut a day on the road.” My voice came out dry as my tone got serious. “This one. Does she know? Is she… suitable?”
I didn’t pull my eyes from the screen yet I knew he was rolling his.
“Don’t start. She knowssomeof it.”
“Some?”
“Some.From our profile.”
“So tell her the rest.”
He groaned at me. “Listen up, Mrtell it like it is, we needtime. She needs to get to know us. We haven’t even met her yet.”
“Ok, so let’s meet her, and then we’ll tell her. Lay our cards flat on the table and see if hers match up.”
He shook his head. “Six months, you promised.”
“I promisedthree.”
“You saidsix, after Nicole from Northampton ran screaming for the hills, you saidsix. You sat right there, just where you are now, andyoupromisedsix.”
“Under duress. I’ve changed my mind.”
He clapped his hands in front of my screen, forcing my attention. “Six, Carl. We’re going with six months this time. I mean it.”
His tone tickled me. “Who died and made you Lord of Sugar Daddy dating? We all know who wears the trousers around here, Richard.” I smirked. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it that way.”
“I’d like it a whole lot better if we managed to coax a three-way just a smidge beyond your boar-headednegotiations. This isn’t some sales deal. It’s about… people, Carl,people…”
“It’s all about the soul, man…” I mocked. “Inegotiate. That’s what I do.”
“Not this time.” He shook his head. “Six months. Let me handle this one.” His eyes were like a puppy dog’s. “Please… just let me handle this one…”
I scrolled down through the email. “Where’s the obligatory nude?”
“There isn’t one.”
I raised my eyebrows. “No tit shot? Not even underwear?”
